


Speak Louder

by maderr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cursed Stiles, Fluff, M/M, Sterek Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 06:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1103814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maderr/pseuds/maderr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been cursed to suffer extreme pain whenever he tries to communicate. Luckily a certain werewolf knows how to fix him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak Louder

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely girleverafter, as part of the Sterek Secret Santa exchange. 
> 
> Many thanks to all who read, and I hope the New Year brings you marvelous things.

Derek found Stiles huddled in the old police station, sitting on the desk that had once belonged to his father. Most of the station furniture remained; everyone eager to start over as much as possible in the new(ish) building, to leave behind the stains of the recent gremlin attacks and the ghosts of the kanima's destruction.

 

Evening was falling, leaving the vacant building almost pitch black, but that had never really slowed Derek down. He lingered in the doorway, looked Stiles up and down, some of the ache in his gut easing—but only some. Stiles looked like hell. His cheeks were tear-stained, smeared with blood where he had wiped it from his lips every time he dared to speak. Bloody fingerprints wrapped around his throat, further evidence of the price he paid whenever he struggled against the curse that bound him against using words in any form, unless he was willing to endure unimaginable pain while using them.

 

He watched as Derek stepped into the room, stirring up dust and crunching debris beneath his heavy boots, before looking back down at his hands, resting on legs that dangled over the edge of the desk.

 

_You say a lot, but you say nothing. Babble babble babble. Infuriating that a boy with so much power is so careless with his words. You bandy them about like toys. Words are weapons. Maybe if every word hurts, you'll have more care to make every one of them count._

 

Derek wished somebody had torn the damned faerie's throat out before he'd managed to cast the curse. So damned typical of Scott to think that kindness and mercy were always viable solutions to a problem. Kindness was at least as dangerous as violence. "I didn't believe them when they told me. If anyone could willfully ignore a curse that bans you from all words, it would be you."

 

Stiles flipped him off—or tried, but even that simple gesture made him cry out, his hand contorting as pain wracked it, bleeding the color from his skin and filling his eyes with fear. Derek crossed the room and took his hand, tried to give the too-cold skin some warmth since he couldn't take away the curse-inflicted pain.

 

He caught Stiles's chin with his other hand, tilted his head up to look into eyes that were slowly dying. He had not seen Stiles's eyes so empty since the days when the nemeton had gripped him tight enough to break him into jagged, sharp-edged pieces.

 

That fucking faerie—which Derek would find and kill before the week was out—hadn't taken away Stiles's ability to use words to teach him a lesson, no matter what he'd said to cast the curse. He had cursed Stiles to get rid of him before he could become the threat—the equal—he showed every promise of someday becoming.  Faeries had always reminded Derek far too much of hunters in that respect, so eager to hurt an innocent before they became a threat, no matter what their fucking code said. He wondered, sometimes, if hunters were entirely human. But they smelled too much of blood and bane to catch any deeper scent that might be there.

 

At the pace Stiles was going, it wouldn't be long before hunters sought him out specifically because it would be the easiest way to cripple the pack. They'd see the same threat the faerie had seen:  Stiles was still a student in terms of magic, but he had soared ahead of the rest of the class, would soon be a class all his own.

 

Unlike hunters, who usually favored a direct approach, faeries loved to get rid of threats by making them get rid of themselves, or each other. A few honey-coated poison words and all that remained was to watch. That was all the more true on the mortal plane, where even the air was poison that left the fae physically weak. They used their words, let their victims take action for them.

 

Stiles pulled away from his touch and Derek let his hand fall, resting it lightly on Stiles's knee. He could feel the tension thrumming just beneath the surface, like a rabbit quivering, waiting for the best moment to kick and run. Derek couldn't blame him, was surprised Stiles hadn't already punched him and left. He wanted to punch himself for succumbing to a moment of panic when Stiles had silently offered what Derek had been long trying to deny wanting … as though he hadn't endured a lifetime of pain and loss and terror that should have made everything else in life so fucking easy. Pressed up against Stiles as they huddled in a narrow alleyway, shuddering when the hunters moved on and for once they got away without bleeding first, it should have been nothing to close that last sliver of remaining space and accept the offer laid bare on wet, parted lips—

 

But Derek had run instead. Because words hurt. _Smile for me. You're so handsome. Don't you like when I do this?_ But actions could hurt more. _Tongue across his abdomen. Nails down his back. Lips that tasted sticky sweet to hide the bitterness._

 

So he'd run away to Arizona for a week on trumped up excuses even he couldn't remember anymore, and he'd only been back a few hours.

 

"Der—" Stiles immediately wrapped fingers around his throat, whining, coughing up blood that painted his lips anew.

 

"Shut up," Derek said, pulling out a handkerchief and stealing the bottle of water Stiles had set nearby to dampen it. Knocking away the hand Stiles held out, he cleaned the blood away himself. "Only you would _keep trying_ even though it's caused you to pass out, what, twice now?" Stiles winced. "Three times? You can't beat this curse by using words anyway, and you know that." Derek dropped the bloody rag on the desk.

 

Stiles glared at him; Derek smiled despite everything, because those eyes were not quite as dead as they had been a couple of minutes ago. They were still far too sad and afraid, however, and Derek would rather die than see Stiles suffer more than he already had.

 

Lifting his hands, Derek cupped Stiles's face and kissed him the way he should have in that alleyway. Stiles tasted like blood, but also like soda and fried chicken, something tart—candy, maybe. He fed a garbled noise into Derek's mouth, twisted his fingers into the front of Derek's green t-shirt.

 

Derek counted the seconds in the back of his mind, the rest of him fully engaged in the warmth and softness that Stiles's mouth had always promised. Muscles twitched beneath his fingers as he skated them down Stiles's body to wrap around his thighs, spreading his legs so Derek could stand between them and kiss him harder, feed at his mouth like a man left to starve to death and unexpectedly saved at the last moment.

 

Thirty-one seconds. That was how long it took for Stiles to draw back. "Oh, my god! Oh my _god._ You stupid—you asshole—you _stupid asshole._ " Stiles punched him in the stomach. "I am going to find a way to revoke your drama! You are _maxed out_ on your yearly allotment of dramatic moments, do you understand me? You fucking _ran away_ at the idea of kissing me! I was—I hate you! A lot! And now you show up to save me with a magical healing kiss? I hate you. I hate werewolves. Especially werewolves named Derek fucking Hale—"

 

"That's not my middle name," Derek cut in, mouth twitching.

 

Stiles grabbed the edges of his leather jacket and made a futile effort to shake him. "You are allowed to shut the hell up."

 

Derek smirked. "Do you want me to apologize or not?"

 

"The world would end."

 

"Okay, I won't," Derek replied, and cut off the scathing retort with another kiss, biting at those lush lips until he was certain they'd be left red and wet and used, sucking on Stiles's tongue, dragging his fingers across the back of Stiles's neck just to feed on the whimpers it provoked.

 

When he finally drew back, slowly letting Stiles's bottom lip slip from between his teeth, it was to see a petulant glare warring with _fuck me_ eyes, the sort of mangled expression only Stiles could ever manage. "I cannot believe you get to stomp in here and save me with a magical kiss after _running away like a stupid coward._ "

 

"It wasn't a magic kiss," Derek said, huffing—grunting when that got him jabbed in the ribs.

 

"Shut up." Stiles jabbed him again, then shoved Derek back so he could stand. "You just became Prince Charming:  absent for ninety percent of the story, showing up at the last minute to kiss the princess and steal the glory—"

 

Derek snorted. "You realize I'm going to call you Princess forever now, right?"

 

"Whatever, Charming. At least I do more than show up late in too-tight clothing to stand around looking pretty."

 

"My clothes are not too tight," Derek muttered. "I'm starting to regret leaving Arizona."

 

Stiles scoffed. "Whatever. You were bored. And we both know your sorry ass would have called me for help before the week was out."

 

"You mean the way you had to call _me_ for help?" Derek caught the hand that tried to jab him again and tangled their fingers together briefly, barely resisting a strange impulse to kiss the back of Stiles's hand. He let it go. "Oh, wait, you couldn't, because some faerie found your mute button—"

 

Stiles flicked his nose, laughing when Derek glared. "If this is you being sorry about being a cowardly coward who runs away from a _kiss,_ you can add it to the list of things you suck at doing."

 

Narrowing his eyes, Derek replied, "If you want to find out what I don't _suck_ at doing, I suggest you shut up."

 

Stiles laughed. "Aww, look at you with the dirty jokes. Though they're not as bad as your attempts at flirting with cops."

 

"I hate everything about you."

 

"Liar," Stiles said, throwing his arms around Derek's neck, dragging him in close and demonstrating that Derek wasn't the only one who could heal with a kiss.


End file.
